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Sampson Stonewall Journal 1
A serious-looking woman sat in comfortable office chair, across a desk from the serious-looking man she was interviewing. She had a look of both concern and recognition as she gazed first at the picture in her pad, then her interview client. Her hair was lacquered on in layers of shellac, a plasticine statue of something that used to be real. Nothing was out of place on this woman. The only thing out of place was the man in the room. "You have an... interesting resume, Mr. Stonewall, is it?" she asked. "Call me Sam," he said. He was sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair, looking out the window, not looking at the woman across from him. He was looking for threats. One could never be too sure in this business. "Well, Sam. I'm not sure why you are sitting in front of me, to be perfectly frank. You aren't qualified enough for my usual muscle work. God knows, you don't have the looks of a Hard Body, but you don't have the chrome of a Razor Boy." "I wasn't aware that extras needed augmentation in this town." "Oh, I'm not looking for extras. I'm looking for roles that have a bit more meat to them. You won't just be part of the scenery." "Look, I need work. I was told that you were the one to talk to about it," he said, turning and staring at the woman. "I speak at least seven languages, I can take a bullet or two, and I'm well-trained in defending myself or anyone in harm's way." "Anyone, yes. Anyone but... Christine?" she smirked as she delivered the bomb. It had its intended effect, as the man's gaze faltered and his face crumpled. "How did you... I didn't put that in my resume," stammered Sam. "Let's just say I keep up to date with the most recent pilots in this town. You never know when one of them is going to become the next Odd Coven." "I... I see. I guess I will be leaving, then," said Sam. The man donned the hat stowed under his arm and got up to leave. "Not so fast. I do have one... open position. It doesn't pay that well, but it's a steady paycheck. It's contract work, though. You won't get a salary, like your previous positions. You'll be working with a team." He narrowed his eyes. "Shadow work? I don't do that. Not anymore." "Oh, but it won't be just any shadow work. Since when has shadowrunning ever promoted the acting career of a promising starlet anyway? No, no, you'll still be part of the system. You'll just bend the rules, sometimes. It's all for the show, you see." He relaxed. "I see. Well, give me a call. I might be interested." He turned to leave, exiting her tiny office back into the studio. "Claire, come in here!" she shouted. Her flustered personal assistant tumbled into the room, glancing back at the door the man just exited and the assistant just entered. "Was... was that Chuck Nelson Ri..." the assistant was about to ask, before being cut off. "No, you silly girl. That was Sampson Stonewall. And he's going to make me rich." The serious-looking woman steepled her fingers and laughed.